DoberMen are just as annoying and stupid as American Men

Listening to: Holding out for a Hero, Frou Frou

Something I've discovered, I cannot type anything anywhere without attracting extreme hate. Okay announcement to the world: YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIKE ME, YOU DO HAVE TO TOLERATE ME!!! that is all...

Okay so everyone wanted to know so I'll tell.

I have a correction, I was NOT attacked by a doberman I had gotten my breeds wrong once again... (this is so demeaning) the little menace was a Daschund...

I was playing some dumb version of kick ball (More like Calvin ball) with my good friend who I shall not name (I can call her P though.) and des tres chouette garcons arrive. They want to play too and so I kick the ball exceptionally hard...

into the backyard of the house next to the lovely park.

We don't have another ball to play with and P wanted to keep the guys around so I volunteer to go get it. (I don't know if that was sheer brilliance or sheer stupidity.) That was when the fun started.

I would like to explain the few mistakes that I commited that probably prove grounds to forbid me to ever contribute to the gene-pool.

1. I first kicked off my flipflops because we all know that it's easier to hop a fence without shoes. And of course when you're wearing a t-shirt and baggy jeans that are bound to get caught on the said fence, you need all the "help" you can get. IT WASN'T EVEN A CHAIN LINK FENCE, IT WAS A FREIKING 5' WOODEN PLANK FENCE!!!

2. Once on top of this lovely pointy splintery wooden fence I examine the yard for our ball and dramatically hop down... only to discover that the belt loop of my lovely pants were caught on a split peice of wood. I get a major wedgie of sorts, a bruise, a scratch and a splinter as a tumble noisly off the top.

3. After cursing proufusely (Mistake number three), I dust myself off and head to retreive my ball. I have the ball in hand when I hear growling... apparently the loud stream of curse words has woken up the resident grouch, Mr. Frumps the Daschund. WHO THE HECK NAMES THEIR DOG, MR. FRUMPS!?

4. P and one of the guys yells for me to run. I stop and accidentally make eye contact with that stupid mutt. (number four) I am thoroughly screwed mostly because I have to pass the dog to get back to the fence which I came from. I cautiously attempt to move to the left.

5. The dog charges, I make a mad dash for the fence. ARRGGHH!! If you've ever had an out of body experience than you will know how relaxing it can be... this was not one of those times.

6. I make it to the fence and get about halfway up before I feel a strange sensation on my leg. Then I realize it is the feeling of my baggy pants sagging at a dangerous angle down my left leg. That damn dog had gotten the hem of my pant leg and was attempting to pull me back to the ground.

7. I think that trying to shake the dog off my leg only made him madder because he realized that my jeans don't have nerves in them but my heel does. Talk about Achilie's heel...

8. I get over the fence, ball and all pretty much bawling and pulling the damn dog over with me. Thank gosh one of the guys wraps Mr. Frumps in a sweatshirt before I can get my hands on him or else I would have taught him a lesson that he would never forget. Damn Dog. We carefully lower the sweatshirt to the ground on the other side of the fence with me safely back in the park.

A few days ago, P called me to tell me that her sweatshirt has a suspicious yellow mark on it. I simply told her that my heel hurt and that next time she was going to get that damn ball.

I don't think I made a very appealing impression on those guys...

You know you love me,

Lara